


I thought I loved you

by XCuteAsHale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Chris POV, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of homophobia, Minor relationship: Talia Hale/Original Male Character, Not Beta Read, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XCuteAsHale/pseuds/XCuteAsHale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking back through the years, Chris couldn’t understand how stupid he’d been. How naïve. How he’d thought that he loved Peter.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Following the tale of Chris Argent and Peter Hale we go through time from 1957 until 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I thought I loved you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DenaCeleste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenaCeleste/gifts).



> My beloved [Dena ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DenaCeleste)is currently busy celebrating her birthday! In honor of that this fic was created, after ditching the first five ideas I had... *cough couch* Happy birthday, my love, or as we say here in Norway "GRATULERER MED DAGEN"! I hope it turns out just the way you wanted it to, and that it's the best birthday ever to be called a birthday. I love you, dear.
> 
> \---
> 
> I have to do some disclaimers: I am not now, nor have I ever been, an expert on conditions for lgbt+ communities throughout the American history, nor am I an expert on the time period of which I have chosen. Google has been a great friend of mine throughout all of this mess, and hopefully, I haven't managed to completely screw it up. If you do notice some major error whilst reading this, I would appreciate it if you would draw my attention to the matter.

Looking back through the years, Chris couldn’t understand how stupid he’d been. How naïve. How he’d thought that he loved Peter.

 

When they first met, Peter was a snotty sophomore at Beacon Hills high school, a smug sneer and glistering eyes - just another small town brat who hadn’t known what life had to offer. Or, at least that was what Chris had thought. His parents had moved them to town when his father got an offer to work for the district's attorney’s office - but Chris had overheard his parents discuss on how his father’s old boss had pushed him out of the company, how he’d been forced here, how degrading Gerard found it to be - and Beacon Hills’ high school had just been like the last five Chris been to. Despite the terrible food at the cafeteria, and the entire school populations weird obsession with softball, Chris soon found himself wanting to stay there - to be able to get through his senior graduation there, before he’d be on his way out of this town, and out of his parents life. That idea had lasted until he met Peter, until they started talking, until he thought he was in love. 

 

In May 1959, the year he graduated high school, Chris joined the US air forces at his father’s insistence. Even the small town of Beacon Hills had been taken over by pro-war propaganda, posters calling for all young and able men to fight for their country, to help overrule communism. The day he got his drafting letter it felt like an icepick had been pierced through his heart, and after he had shared the news with his overly proud father and crying mother, he went to Peter. He found the younger boy sitting in the preserve just on the outskirts of town, in a small clearing they had discovered in their ever evolving search of privacy, of the chance to steal kisses and soft touches without the risk of getting caught. Peter cried when he told him, heartbreaking screams tearing through his throat until there was no more sound, only tears. He tried explaining, tried telling him that it would just be a matter of time before the war was over, that he might not even have to go to the front and fight but Peter didn’t want to listen, and when Chris tried to put his arms around him he tore free. Chris’ heart wept alongside Peter, mourning the possibility of chances gone. He thought he loved Peter then.

 

In the beginning of 1960 he got called to the front, only months after finishing his pilot training. He was given a week’s leave to say his goodbyes to his family - and when he got back home, because that was home now, wasn’t it? - Peter was waiting. They went to the preserve yet again, sharing heated kisses that tasted like tears and touches that was just this side of too hard, too rough. Peter promised he’d write him, and Chris did the same. They both knew that Peter couldn’t use his own name though, not if they wanted to include their love in the small notes meant to go across the world, so they decided that Peter would use his younger sister’s name - Talia - and when Chris wanted to send him letters, he would just explain to his platoon that his  _ girlfriend’s  _ parents didn’t like him, so he had an agreement with her brother, that he would send the letters to him, and he would give them to their rightful owner. Chris left his family, his friends, his home and his lover behind to fight for his country - and oh how he thought he loved Peter then.

 

Vietnam was nothing like what he’d expected. From the way his father had gone on and on about it, he figured it would simply be a bunch of soldiers trying to make the time pass, doing all they could not to die from the humidity. Instead he found himself in a suffocating heat, native soldiers not much older than him, some were even younger than him, and an expectation for him to train them. In the beginning he struggled with the language barrier, the way he would lose himself in the instructions, only to look at the men - boys, really - who all stared at him with blank expressions. The only thing that kept him sane was the feeling of freedom he got from flying, and the letters he got from Peter. Peter had avoided being drafted, and had gotten accepted into the university of Pittsburgh to study English literature, working to become a teacher. After a while things started getting easier, the native soldiers started learning english, and started teaching him vietnamese as well. When he wasn’t working, teaching or flying, he was waiting to hear from Peter. Without a picture to look at, he had to rely on his memory of the younger man, the way he’d looked when they said goodbye at the preserve. Had he changed much? Had he grown into the promise of his shoulders, or his gangly legs? He had missed Peter then, and he had thought he loved him.

 

May of 1965 Chris returned to the states. On the plane from Washington to the small airport in Beacon Hills he got spit on by a stranger at the airport, a young woman sneering at the sight of his uniform, at his short hair. He hadn’t known what to say, or do, so he had just stared at her. When he’d arrived at his parents house there were flags perched on the lawn, and they had been standing in the driveway holding small handheld flags, his father’s arm resting across his mother’s shoulders. His mother had cried as she hugged him, telling him over and over how much she’d missed him, and when she finally let go, he’d been face to face with his father. Gerard had never been an emotional man, and it was only the military training nailed into his subconscious that stopped him from outright gaping when his father had patted his shoulder. Chris curled himself into his childhood bed that night, thinking about Peter, and how it was only a month before he graduated, before they could be together once more. Chris thought he loved Peter then.

 

On the 21st of June 1965 Chris sat on an uncomfortable chair in the middle of a crowd, watching the graduating class of Pittsburgh university walk across the podium to gather their diplomas and shake hands with the headmaster. When Peter walked up the stairs, Chris cheered louder than anyone else in the crowd, gathering a few stares from the people around him - but he didn’t see anyone else than Peter. Watching Peter accept the diploma and handshake Chris had never felt so proud in his life, not only because Peter had managed to do something with his life, but he’d given life to one of his dreams. As he waited for the rest of the students to gather their diplomas, Chris lost himself in memories of a seventeen year old Peter who had sworn that one day, one day he’d become an english teacher, simply so the next generation of kids didn’t have to suffer through Mr.Thompson’s classes like they had. Memory after memory popped up in his mind, this and this and this, and suddenly the people around him was moving. By the time he was finally able to make his way through the sea of people dressed in their Sunday’s best and find Peter, the younger man was surrounded by his family. Chris stopped a couple of yards away and just looked at him, watched as he threw his head back and laughed at something Talia had said. Chris thought he loved him then.

 

Peter invited him to come with him and his family to a restaurant when he saw him, and Chris couldn’t say no, not when he finally had the chance to look at Peter again. Peter who had grown an awful goatee, Peter who had indeed grown into his shoulders and his gangly legs, who were now only inches shorter than Chris. Peter with his blue eyes that glistened with mischief, happiness and pride. The dinner had been torture, being that close without having the option of touching, of getting re-acquainted with each other’s skin, each other’s lips. But Chris had endured. He had listened to the stories from Peter’s childhood, shared by his parents and by Talia, who despite only being two years older, seemed to have many. They had stayed at the restaurant until darkness started settling in on the edges of the sky, and after bringing Peter’s family home, Peter had said he was following Chris home. To catch up. They ended up in their clearing in the preserve, clinging to each other, tears running down their cheeks. Peter was firmer now, hard in the places he had been soft the last time Chris had held him, muscles replacing baby-fat. His lips still felt the same under Chris’. His fingers still fit in the room between Chris’. They didn’t get home until sunrise the next morning, having already made plans to move away, to move to Illinois where same-sex relationships had been decriminalized only four years earlier. When he laid down in his bed that morning, Chris allowed himself to dream. And he thought he loved Peter then.

 

Four weeks later they were the proud owners of a small, beat down house in Chicago. The kitchen sink was leaking and the walls needed a fresh coat of paint, but to Chris it felt like a palass. They didn’t have a lot of furniture, only some pots and pans alongside a twin bed mattress lacking the frame, but neither of them really cared. Peter soon got a job as a teacher at the local high school just blocks away from their house, and Chris found work as a construction worker with help from one of his old army buddies. Eventually, as the time passed, more furniture started appearing in the house, along with small knick knacks that made it seem like a home. Every night they curled up close together, as if fearing that letting go of the other for just one second would mean that they were lost forever - it was a habit they didn’t consciously make, but it was one Chris loved. Curling up next to Peter always felt safe and warm, like the plagues from the wartime and the hate from the outside world couldn’t touch him in those moments. Chris thought he loved Peter then.

 

After the Stonewall riots in ‘69, they’d talked about it - about coming out, about declaring their love for the public to see, but in the end, fear kept them from it. They had their connections within the community, and after hearing about gay bashings and killings almost on a daily basis, they both decided that it wasn’t worth it - that the chance that they could be killed wasn’t worth it, because why  _ should  _ they have to declare their love for each other for the world to see? Why wasn’t it enough that Chris whispered it into Peter’s skin, that he branded the words there by fiery kisses and soft touches? Chris thought he loved Peter then.

 

In 1976 they moved to San Francisco, just in time for Chris’ 35th birthday. Despite the constant worry that somehow, someone would figure out who they were, what they were, they lived a happy life. When Harvey  Milk won a seat as a city supervisor in ‘77 , Peter bought a bottle of champagne for them to drink as a celebration, both of them sure that this was it - it wouldn’t be long now before they could be as free as any other person in the country they both loved. When he was assassinated along side major Moscone 11 months later, Chris held Peter as he cried, watched as the hope that had been lit in his lover’s eyes dwindled once more, feeling his own hope die down as well. As they went to bed that Chris felt a fire spark inside him. Fuck the world for trying to dictate who he could or could not be, fuck them, because he thought he loved Peter then.

 

In December 1977, Peter’s parents died in a car accident. A drunk driver t-boned them in a crossing, killing them both instantly. Chris had held Peter when he got the message, cradled him to his chest as he sobbed, begging God, anyone, everyone willing to listen that it wasn’t true. He couldn’t hold Peter at the funeral, or even hold his hand in church, so he did the only thing he could - and stayed close, refusing to stray from his lover’s side. He watched as Peter embraced his sister, both of them knowing that they were the only ones left, and he wondered for a brief moment, if things had been different, if  _ they  _ had been different, if perhaps it could have been easier for Peter - perhaps he would have the knowledge that he would be able to provide his mother with her greatest wish, even if it had to happen after her death, to provide her with a grandchild. The moment passed when Peter caught his eyes and Chris could see it written clearly in them, that things didn’t have to change, that they didn’t have to change, not to satisfy her wishes, because they were the way they wanted to be - the way they were meant to be. Chris held Peter after the funeral, and listened carefully as he told him about childhood memories, about his mother’s pies and his father trying to teach him to work on cars. Chris listened to Peter talk about them, talk about the love they all had for each other. He listened, knowing full and well that he would do everything within his power for this man, for the stubborn, sarcastic, beautiful man he held in his arms. Because Chris thought he loved Peter then.

 

With the 80’s the AIDS-crisis arrived - tv propaganda adding wood to the fire that was the sheer hatred, fear and misunderstandings surrounding the gay community. In ‘82 when the principal of Peter’s school heard rumors that he was gay, Peter had been called into the office and let go, given a week’s notice. A week’s notice after sacrificing four years to that school, four years to listening to the kids problems, spending his time grading papers, preparing lectures, organizing parent-teacher nights. Knowing that it was just a matter of time before the rumors spread out of control, that the risk of getting attacked whilst walking down the streets would only increase, they decided to go back to where it all started for them. Packing up their lives was a strange sort of pain, one that Chris hadn’t felt since he moved to Beacon Hills as a gangly 17 year old, one he had hoped to never feel again. The night before they moved Peter held him in his arms, kissing his brows and promising that their whispered hopes would all come true - if not today, then someday. Once again witnessing Peter’s strength, Chris was sure he loved him. 

 

Returning to Beacon Hills for the first time in 23 years was a daunting experience. Time had changed some things, like it tended to do, whilst others had stubbornly remained the same. The high school had gotten a new coat of paint at some point, a dull red having replaced the once white. Some houses, including Chris’ old neighbour Mr.Parkins’, had been removed, and new ones had been built. It was a strange sensation, walking along the streets, like a memory fogged by time was once more brought to life - only it had changed, it wasn’t the same. Chris’ parents had moved to Florida five years earlier. Still, Chris expected to see them at every turn they took, expected them there when they visited Talia, who was the only remaining family either of them had left in Beacon Hills, expected to see them at the grocery store, at the movie theatre, at the gas station. They rented a house for two years, Peter once again finding work at the high school - and how he had laughed when he got home, telling Chris that Mr.Thompson had been fired ten years ago after getting caught staring into one of his female students shirts one-to-many-times - and Chris joined the police force at the Beacon Hills sheriff’s station. Those days, Chris thought he loved Peter.

 

Dressing in a uniform again was a strange experience, one Chris had thought he’d never feel again after leaving the army. Despite being old enough to be one of his senior commanders father, he got along good with his fellow officers, and despite lacking seniority, in that department anyway, the younger boys quickly turned to look at him like an authority figure. In October of 1984 they bought a house just on the outskirts of the preserve, a mile from the Hale property, celebrated by a winter bbq with some of Peter’s colleagues, the guys from the station who wasn’t on shift, and Talia and her boyfriend - everyone happy to celebrate that their friends had bought a house, an investment to their future, for when they found the dream woman and settled down. The beer tasted bitter on Chris’ tongue, and he wondered how long people would keep the blinds over their eyes, how long they would continue to think that he and Peter were still just hopeless bachelor's looking for that perfect little lady to settle down with. He wondered how long it would take them to realize, to understand, that at that moment Chris was ready to lay down his life for Peter. He wondered how long they would be safe after the realization hit them. When everyone had left them that night, when it was just him and Peter, he kissed the taste of beer from the younger man’s lips and wondered. He thought he loved Peter then.

 

In 1985 Chris’ parents died, two months apart. Gerard Argent left behind a heartbroken wife and a grief stricken son when an undiscovered prostate cancer finally caught up with him. The funeral had been hell, filled with Gerard’s old friends, with distant cousins all wanting to take a look at what he’d left behind. Peter got him through it, made him wake up and face it, face the pain. Chris had tried persuading his mother to come stay with them, even if it meant giving up sleeping next to Peter, giving up kissing him openly within the secure walls of their home, he’d tried begging her but she refused. When she died two months later the doctors called it heart failure, but Chris would swear until his dying day that she died of a broken heart. A part of him died the day he got the phone call - the day he was told that he would never be given the chance to tell his mother that he was gay, that he was in love with Peter, never be given the chance to get her acceptance, should she choose to give it - not again. Looking back through the years he realized that he’d let so many chances go, that the perfect moment he had been waiting for would never arrive, that he should have told her then. Peter tried to console him, held him through the worst of the pain, rocking him back and forwards whispering declarations of love and admiration. He had tried getting Chris to talk about it, again and again, but it was like a cloud of darkness had settled over his mind. He saw how much his pain affected Peter, how much of it he took in over himself, how the restless nights took their tolls - yet, Peter never gave up hope. Chris thought he loved Peter then.

 

On the 21st of June 1987 Talia Hale got married. Chris was seated at the front of the church, watching Talia’s husband-to-be, Aron, smiling to his mother. Talia had visited just days before the wedding, asking Peter to be the one to lead her up the aisle, despite Aron’s father offering to do it. Chris had smiled at Peter’s joyful tears, at his assurance that of course he’d be honored to step in for their father, to be the one to give her away. When the bridal song played from the organ, Chris stood in time with the rest of the guests, and watched as Peter led his sister towards a new life. They had been seated beside each other at the reception, Talia having insisted that Peter’s friend shouldn’t be put at the singles table, because truly, he did only know Peter and herself - a fact Chris would be eternally grateful for. Chris listened to all the speeches that was made, listened to Aron’s father claiming that he hadn’t lost a son, but gained a daughter, and laughed along side them all at all the appropriate places. When it was Peter’s turn to hold his speech, Chris squeezed his knee under the table, a secret message saying I’m here. The speech had made Talia cry as soon as the first words had been, somewhat quietly, muttered. It didn’t take Peter long though before he was giving the speech with the same confidence he had when he rehearsed it over and over in front of Chris in their bedroom, when he told tales about sibling rivalries that soon turned into comradery as soon as their parent’s had been upset with one of them, tales of undying love and gratefulness, tales of joy and tales of grief. When Peter had sat back down, Chris had felt the undying urge to kiss him, but he knew he had to wait. After seeing Talia and her husband off into a waiting car appointed to take them to the beginning of their honeymoon, Chris and Peter went home, where Chris whispered promises of a lifetime together into Peter’s thighs. He thought he loved Peter then.

 

December 25th 1987 Chris woke up alone. It wasn’t unusual for one of them to be gone in the morning, to be off to work, but they did tend to linger in bed on the days where they had no place to be before noon. When Chris made his way downstairs however, he discovered the reason why Peter had abandoned him to cold sheets. Clad in only his pjs, Peter had been holding a tiny puppy in his hands, a huge grin on his face. They had talked about it earlier, about the protection and company a dog could provide, but Peter had always been adamant that they waited - that the neither of them had the time to look after another living being. Apparently he had found the time now. Chris named the dog Chance after Peter told him about how he found him at the local shelter, how he’d been brought in after being discovered close to his dead mother. Chance became a part of their family as easy as breathing, claiming his rightful place at the end of the bed almost every night, and Chris’ lap when they were seated in the couch to watch TV. Chris thought he loved Peter then.

 

On the 8th of August 1989 Laura Hale was brought kicking and screaming into the world. Chris had woken in the middle of the night by a frantic phone call from Aron, telling them that it was time, and Peter and him had made their way to the hospital. After six hours of waiting, a nurse came into the hall to tell them that a healthy baby girl had been born, and that all was well with mother and child. When they walked into the room and saw an exhausted Talia holding a little bundle of pink cloth, Peter had started crying, and when Talia had placed the babe into his arms, Chris had to turn away from the image for a second. Laura was beautiful. A head full of brown hair and big brown eyes. Chubby cheeks and powerful fists. Seeing Peter holding her brought a stabbing kind of pain to Chris’ chest, because the image was so beautiful, so natural, and he knew that he would never see Peter hold one of their own little ones - but when Peter turned towards him with glistening blue eyes, Chris knew that he didn’t have to, because from that moment on, the little girl had stolen her uncle’s heart, and she would be enough. He knew that whatever life threw at them, they would always have this moment to look back at, this beautiful moment where the room was filled with a unique kind of love and happiness. He thought he loved Peter then. 

 

In 1990 a new deputy started working at the police station. A young, second generation Polish immigrant, named John Stilinski. Chris had seen many faces come and go throughout his eight years at the station, three of which he’d been serving as the town’s sheriff, and whilst he expected Stilinski to do errors - he was only a man, after all - he was pleasantly surprised when they got called out on a domestic dispute call and discovered that the couple who had been heard arguing, was a pair of gay men. Chris knew them, he and Peter had often been to their house for dinner, and had hosted many dinners for them as well, but neither of the three acknowledged it - the pair knew that Chris was still closeted, and they all knew the risk of outing him. Whereas Chris would have expected a sneer, or a crude remark about their sexuality, John treated them both the same way he would if it had been a straight couple - quickly coming getting to the bottom of the disagreement and tried helping them work through it. Chris had stayed on his toes for a week after that, every night curling close to Peter, praying that this wouldn’t be the last - that he wouldn’t someday be given a call to some remote location only to have his life almost beaten out of him, or worse, a bullet to the back of his neck. In the end, it had been Stilinski who had brought it up, telling him about how he had been the subject of discrimination due to his parentage and how he didn’t want to subject anyone else to the same feeling, because they hadn’t chosen to be gay, so who was he to judge? Chris had come out to him a week later, the first living soul he’d ever told about his sexuality aside from Peter, and John Stilinski had merely accepted it. The next night Peter and he hosted a dinner for Stilinski and his wife, a young dark haired girl named Claudia, who had been as open and accepting as her husband. Peter had kissed him that night, telling him that the world was changing, that soon it wouldn’t be a matter of having to consider their safety in regards to coming out or not. Chris thought he loved Peter then.

 

On the 16th of May 1993, the same year that Laura lost her first tooth, Derek Hale was born. Peter and Chris had been elected baby sitters for an anxious Laura, and hadn’t seen the newest member of the family before Talia and Aron brought him home the next day. Whereas Laura had been loud, Derek was quiet, but just like his sister, Derek was the most beautiful baby in the world. A fine dune layer of black hair coated his head, and when he opened his eyes to look at them, they were hazel, just like his father’s. Chris held the little one in his arms and promised him the world, promised him that he would never be without family, that no matter what happened - Chris would be there. Peter cried as he held his nephew in his arms, and cried even harder when Talia claimed that she wanted a picture of both the kids with both of their uncles and Chris had been unable to do anything except hold him and smile at the way she looked at them with love on her face. On the 16th of May 1993, the same year that Laura lost her first tooth, Derek Hale was born and Peter and Chris came out to their family. He thought he loved Peter then.

 

In ‘95 John Stilinski came into the station one day, cheering that his wife had finally given birth, that he was now the proud father of a tiny tiny baby boy. Chis had clapped and hooted alongside the rest of the guys, watched with cheeks hurting from smiling too much how Janice Johnson, or JJ, who worked at the reception cried and clasped her hands in front of her mouth. Two weeks later Chris and Peter stood outside the Stilinski residence with a six year old Laura tipping on her toes in front of them and a two year old Derek clinging to Chris’ hand, and, after Talia’s insistence, a casserole dish held dutifully by Peter. Genim Stilinski had the most powerful lungs Chris had ever experienced - and the little one refused to stop crying no matter how much his parents tried lulling, shushing and soothing him. Still both John and Claudia looked radiant, happiness clear on their faces, and with a small flush going up her cheeks, Claudia asked them a question that nearly broke Chris’ heart; she asked if it would be too much trouble for them, for Peter  _ and _ Chris, to be Genim’s godparents. Four months later Chris stood at the aisle in the local church, a howling Genim in his arms, accepting the responsibility of raising the babe should it fall on their shoulders. Looking at Peter that day, Chris thought he loved Peter then.

 

When the 20th century gave way to the 21st they started seeing changes within the rights of the lgbt community. In 2000 Vermont became the first state in the country to legally recognize civil unions between same-sex couples. Things changed between them as well, as Chris, now 59 years old, retired from the Beacon Hills police force. They talked about it then, about how it was now only a matter of time before California would fall in behind Vermont, that they would finally be recognized as a couple in the eyes of the law Chris had dedicated the past eighteen years to. On september the 3d, Chris went down on one knee in front of Peter, asking him to marry him one day. He promised Peter the world, his life, his heart, he told him about how he had known back in the final part of ‘58 that Peter was it for him. When Peter had rolled his eyes and said yes, claiming he only did so to get Chris off his knees before they froze like that, Chris had never been happier. When they announced the news to their family and friends, standing side by side, hand in hand, Chris knew that he could take on the world - as long as he had the man he loved by his side. Because he thought he loved Peter then.

 

March 2002 Peter and Chris had to make the toughest decision in their entire life - Chance who had now reached the mature age of 15 years had to be put down. Logically Chris had known that it was the best thing for him, that he was weary and tired, that his joints ached and that his body was closing in on the end, but emotionally, emotionally it felt like someone was ripping a piece of his heart out. They arranged for the vet to come to their house, for Chance to be given the courtesy of falling into the eternal sleep in his own home. When the day arrived they arranged for Chance to have the best day in his life. Peter made him ten burgers for him alone, and Chris bought designer dog beer. They walked through the park one final time, tossing a rugged yellow tennis ball that had definitely seen better days, and when they stopped every every five minutes so that Chance could sniff at the traces of the five hundred dogs that had been there before him, none of them complained. When they got back to the house to wait for the vet to arrive, all three of them had a beer, and curled up on the couch to watch animal planet - Chance’s favorite channel. When the vet arrived and the injection had been brought into Chance’s veins, Peter and Chris petted him through their tears, muttering words of praise and adoration, promises that they would see him again, some day. Going to bed that night had been strange, as both of them had grown accustomed to the weight at their feet, the sound of small whines and feet kicking in dreams. Curling up close together, Peter wiped away the tears running from Chris’ eyes. Chris thought he loved Peter then.

 

In 2004, in an act of what Chris considered to be astonishing bravery, Derek Hale came out as bi-sexual to his family and friends, at the tender age of 12. Chris could feel himself tense in preparations to stand up to his defence should his parents not take it too well, and he could see Peter doing the same. One thing was having a gay brother, who could easily just be boxed in by saying that he had a special friend, but it was an entirely other thing to have a child who didn’t fit into the A4 mold made by society. When Talia simply hugged her son and thanked him for being open with them, and Aron patted his shoulders, and Laura smacked his shoulders with a teasing smile and tears in her eyes, Chris was astonished. When Derek came to them the same year and asked them to accompany him to the local Pride parade, they accepted, mentally preparing themselves to protect the child at any cost - because they could remember all too well how being different was something to be ashamed of, something to store away in the back, something to shun and mock. The parade had been an eye opener. It had been one thing to hear about the way lgbt rights were on the path of improvement, to hear about politicians promising them gold and green forests, but to see it with their own eyes, to see so many faces all blur together in an ocean of people who came together to celebrate their uniqueness - it was a true eye opener. Somehow Derek got his hands on three rainbow flags, handing them both one, and when they raised them above their eyes in solidation to their brothers and sisters, Chris cried. He cried because he could still remember the fear, the shame and the guilt. He could still remember a time when being gay was considered equal to being a child molester, when the mere idea of being open about his sexuality had been the idea to open himself up attacks. Looking around him now Chris saw acceptance. He saw love. He saw change. Looking at Peter who held his flag raised high with tears in his eyes, Chris knew that his life long lover and companion, his fiancee, his husband hopefully soon to be, was seeing the same. He thought he loved Peter then.

 

In 2005, and in a quick movement of spontaneity, Chris walked into the local shelter, where Peter had found Chance eighteen years earlier. He hadn’t had a plan to acquire a new companion, hadn’t discussed it with Peter, but something drew him into the shelter and before he realized what was happening he was singing the adoption papers. That afternoon when he walked through the front door with a pet carrier in his hand, Peter scolded him for not considering “ _ that his heart was 63 years old, Christopher, and it shouldn’t have to put up with this shock _ ”. As soon as Chris had opened the carrier to allow a rather, well, fat orange tabby to cautiously make her way through it, Peter’s tune changed, and he was instantly smitten with the new addition to the family. Peter decided to name her Princess. Living up to her name, Princess soon made her personality clear, and it was soon clear that she only accepted the best cat food and that only their laps or their beds would be deemed acceptable places to rest, much to Peter’s never ending amusement. When Princess gave birth to eight kittens three weeks after arriving at their home,  _ in their bed _ , both of them was surprised - as the vet who had given her the all clear had simply claimed that her weight was due to her love of food. The kittens quickly became part of their family, and Peter and Chris’ house that had felt so quiet after Chance’s passing, was now filled with life and sound once more. Chris thought he loved Peter then.

 

2006 brought a new kind of terror to their lives. Laura Hale went on her first date. At sixteen, it shouldn’t surprise them that she had taken an interest in boys, after all, Peter had been the same age when they met, and Chris only a year older. But somehow the idea eluded them, somehow it didn’t go up for them that the little girl they had held in their arms was growing up, becoming a woman. Talia had been the one to tell them, and Chris had seen how the news had taken their toll on her as well, how she too had been lost in the memory of the little girl, not seeing the woman who was now standing in front of them. They lost themselves in memories that day, thinking back to the times where such an act would have been outrageous - all agreeing that times  _ were  _ better now. And when a seventeen year old boy was standing outside the Hale house the next day, expecting to pick Laura up, he was met by four men ready to stand to her aid. Chris and Peter had agreed to come, to stand beside Aron and Derek, but only on the condition that no one expected them to be too cruel, after all, Laura did have a good mind to her, and if she had accepted the invitation, then who were they to say otherwise? After seeing the pair off, Peter and Chris couldn’t contain the laughter any more - the poor boy had looked so afraid to say something wrong, stuttering and throwing Sir’s and Maam's in every direction. Oh how he thought he loved Peter then.

 

On May 17th 2008 Chris stood alongside Peter, an ocean of people looking at them, flashes going off left and right, murmurs echoing along the walls. Looking back through the years, Chris couldn’t understand how stupid he’d been. How naïve. How he’d thought that he loved Peter. How he thought that he understood what love was back then, because truly, he was in love now. Only two days previous the supreme court of California had ruled that same-sex couples had the constitutional right to marry. Only two days earlier, on May 15th, the day had arrived. The one they had been waiting for for the past 51 years. The one they had been whispering about, the one they had been using as a beacon of hope. On May 17th 2008 in front of hundreds of other people, Chris finally got to tell the world that he loved Peter, he got to shout it from the rooftops, because now, now they were married. They had changed through the years, aged gracefully as Peter always said, but to him, Peter was still the most beautiful man in the word. Whereas his hair had been black as a raven's wings when they met, it was now streaked with gray - making him a proper silver fox - and where his face had been smooth and still round from baby fat, it was now streaked with lines at his eyes from smiling. His hands were still strong. His arms were still warm. His eyes were still that deep ocean blue.

 

On May 17th 2008 Chris knew he loved Peter and he couldn’t understand how he could ever love him more, but after all, he had thought that before.


End file.
